PI (Artisan - 1998) Starring Sean Gullette, Mark Margolis, Ben Shenkman, Pamela Hart Screenplay by Darren Aronofsky Produced by Eric Watson Directed by Darren Aronofsky Running time: 85 minutes
*** (out of four stars)
Alternate Rating: B
Note: Some may consider portions of the following text to be spoilers. Be forewarned.
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Among my fanatical ticker tape-worshipping friends, there's one who happens to share the same philosophy espoused by the central character in Darren Aronofsky's darkly original PI: the entire stock market can be reduced to nothing but a series of patterns which, through analysis, will produce information to accurately forecast future behaviour. (An example of the mentality involved: if the stock price goes up like this, and then down like that, and then sharply up this way, it then will go *this* way.) While I freely admit that I know less than nothing about the market (knowledge check: prices up -- good; prices down -- bad; most of the time, at least) and hence really couldn't comment with any authority, it's always nonetheless struck me as an incredibly naive oversimplification of an astonishingly complex system (and besides, if it were that simple, no doubt somebody would've already figured it all out). The difference in this case is that while my colleague (an otherwise assuredly realistic individual) truly believes in this in and of itself as a valid forecaster, PI uses this ideology as a device with which to investigate its character's psychosis. It's also vastly more convincing with its argument.
"Mathematics is the language of the universe," insists genius protagonist Maximillian Cohen (Sean Gullette) in a cool, mantra-like voice-over which repeats throughout the picture. Since nature can be expressed in numbers, and there are patterns everywhere in nature, he reasons with eminent logic that finding the patterns will allow him to predict anything -- the ups and downs of the stock market, how many games the Yankees will win this year, the flavour of jam I'm going to put on my toast tomorrow morning. Obsessed with finding the proverbial key to the universe, Max lives in paranoid, self-imposed solitude in a seedy NYC Chinatown apartment, single-mindedly toiling away with his monstrous homemade computer system. Sullenly withdrawn and plauged by debilitating migraines, the elusive pursuit of a mysterious 216-digit number his machine spits out one day is driving him into madness.
The story, then, is basically an eccentricity, but it's a clever, astute eccentricity, perceptively zeroing in on the modern mistrust of mathematical reductionism; in an age where a dominant societal phobia is one's individualism being replaced by a series of numeric identifiers, Max's all-consuming penchent for numbers at once creates a lingering, unsettling mood.
It helps matters that he's not a particularly likable protagonist. All attempts of friendliness from neighbours are curtly rebuffed by Max, a spindly, neurotic-looking individual who hasn't the time to indulge in pleasantries. For a film which puts its lead character front and center (Mr. Gullette appears in virtually every scene), PI takes a refreshing and effective approach in avoiding conventional aesthetics; because of our ambivalence with Max, we're not so much avidly rooting for him to triumph with a moment of epiphany as we're following him through this plot with a sense of mixed dread and morbid fascination -- it's more disturbing journey than quest.
Still, we do care about Max's fate. Teetering on the edge of dementia, he winds up being pursued by two different groups which want to pick his brain, both fronted by deliciously perky, resolutely cheerful representatives with inevitably duplictious intentions. As we know, in films where paranoia is a dominant element (see THE TRUMAN SHOW's Laura Linney character), or for that matter, in real life, it's always the ones who never stop smiling at you and are overly friendly that are the ones of which to be wary.
PI, a film that addresses patterns, itself intentionally adheres to an identifiable pattern cycle -- headache scene; important revelation or bit of plot development; pill-popping montage; hallucinatory nightmare (with decidedly Cronenberg-esque undertones -- few other directors are as equally adept in bridging unsettling concepts and body-themed horror); nosebleeding reality. The repetitiveness, far from being tedious, is effectively maddening; more than anything, the picture aims to get under our skins and take in events from Max's claustrophobic perspective.
In this regard, it wildly succeeds due to Mr. Aronofsky's striking direction. It's a rarity that a film so completely immerses itself into a protagonist's warped perspective of his surrounding, and high contrast black-and-white cinematography combined with constant usage of extreme close-ups lend a heightened sense of paranoia to the proceedings. (In some scenes, the stark composition in conjunction with the lumbering approach by Mr. Gullette make his character curiously resemble a latter-day Max Schreck, from NOSFERATU.) Using savage, jittery lensing and rapid cuts to create a sense of disorientation, the picture is often dizzying to behold, and Max's effective isolationism is emphasized by shots from the so-called Snorri Cam, which keep him in plain focus while the environment races by in blurred bursts. PI's raw, aggressive visuals are reminiscent of David Lynch's early work (in particular, ERASERHEAD).
The film's sinister tone splashes onto the screen immediately with a dazzling opening credit sequence ably backed by a sly electronic score by Clint Mansell, and gradually increases in intensity. Still, amidst all its Kafkaesque qualities and overall dispassionate mood, PI does occasionally display a sense of humour. At one point, Marcy Dawson (Pamela Hart, great fun) entices Max with the offer of an invaluable treasure: a one-of-a-kind ... computer chip. "Isn't it beautiful," she coos.
A showcase for Mr. Aronofsky's technical virtuosity (made for $60 000, it's since gone on to capture acclaim at the 1998 Sundance Film Festival), PI is an intriguingly cerebral story which, ironically, is perhaps the most purely visceral film of the year.
- Alex Fung
email: aw220@freenet.carleton.ca
web : http://www.ncf.carleton.ca/~aw220/
-- Alex Fung (aw220@freenet.carleton.ca) | http://www.ncf.carleton.ca/~aw220/ "...a first screenplay unaccompanied by a powerful agent or industry sponsor is generally a pathetic fetus of a film, nothing more." - Andrew Sarris
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